several pairs of OVERSIZED clothes and a whole lotta MISERY
by raistss
Summary: A ficlet I wrote when struck with sudden and random inspiration. Post-movie, some things amended to suit the idea. Rated T for language.


Billy Costigan had shown up at Sean Dignam's door that night, after the man had gone through the trouble of taking some good old-fashioned revenge on the rat that Colin Sullivan had been, his face as pale as the moon hanging in the sky, and the circles under his eyes as dark as the velvety night. He'd sucked in a breath, as shaky as a flag during a hurricane, then threw up on Sean's welcome mat.

Sean had not said a word, letting the (supposed to be dead) man in. He'd quickly collapsed on the couch, his tired body sucking in the plush couch like a drug, as though he had never slept on a bed before - which Sean later discovered was practically true. Sean returned to his bed an hour later, forgetting to offer the other man some sort of food or a blanket.

It was only two hours later when the police officer heard a blood-curdling scream, and despite his exhaustion he reacted immediately, running down the stairs, loaded pistol in hand. However, all he found was Billy, curled up on the couch and trembling in fear. His cyan eyes were dark, distant, despite the extreme width they'd opened to.

Sean realized he was having a flashback, probably a nightmare, and a panic attack. He uncocked the pistol, put the safety on, and set it down, then approached Billy slowly and in a non-threatening manner. Usually, he might have been laughing at the man- no, the boy- but he was supposed to be dead, and god knows how he could've gotten out of that when there was a funeral (though it was closed casket, and they might not have found the body, but he hadn't gotten any information due to his 'stress leave.')

He sat next to Billy, not entirely sure what to do, and rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, gently shaking him.

"Hey," he started, "earth to Costigan..." Billy flinched violently, as if fighting to gain control, and let out an animalistic groan that chilled Sean to the bone.

He shook him again and Billy actually jumped, straight off of the couch, and landed on his ass on the coffeetable, which for some reason did not break. He blinked furiously, coming back to his senses slowly.

"Oh, jesus, fuck..." was all he said, his eyes still dark, but not distant.

Sean cast a worried expression towards the boy, who stood up stiffly, pausing as though he'd gotten dizzy or pulled on an injury, then sat on the other side of Sean. They made eye contact, for only a brief second, then Billy slid his face in his hands, trying to relax.

It was that night that revealed Billy's secret - he'd faked his death - though the bullet had scraped him, it did not kill. He'd reflexively shot Barrigan, then made Sullivan believe he'd killed him, the details of which he did not reveal. He had been bleeding, so the crime scene had ended up making it look like he'd taken a fatal hit and escaped to die in a ditch somewhere. Sean didn't quite understand how it had been believed.

* * *

The next day Billy had taken his first shower in a week - Sean was surprised he hadn't noticed the smell before, mixed with the stench of cigarettes - and ended up burrowing Sean's clothes, which were entirely too large for his now malnourished body.

Sean had taken his clothes to wash without his permission and emptied the pockets to find two smashed phones, five dollars, a half-empty packet of cigarettes, and a bottle of Oxycontin that was not in his name. Unsure of what to do with it, he left the cigarettes, phones, and money on the shelf in the guest room he'd shown Billy and held on to the Oxycontin.

He wanted to confront the boy about it, of course, but he needed to see just how bad it was first. probably because he was a jerk, he figured.

* * *

It had taken exactly four hours until Billy realized they were missing.

The first hour he'd dressed, made himself a bowl of cereal, and watched White Collar on TV. The second hour he found a notebook and wrote some "personal shit" and drew some "fuckin' nasty" pictures. By the third hour, his face had gone moonlight pale again, and his drawings had become increasingly violent. By the fourth hour he was panicked - his breathing was similar to that of a dying fish's, and sweat covered his forehead. His drawings, which he paid no attention to, were mostly that of things he'd experienced. Some of which Sean could recognize, and others he just knew.

Thirty minutes into the fourth hour, he rushed into his room, then came out looking like he'd seen a ghost. "Where are they...?" he whispered the question as he searched.

Sean held 'them' up. "You mean these?" he shook the bottle, rattling the pills, and Billy's head snapped up, his eyes widening.

"Where the fuck did you find those?" He asked, his voice threatening.

Sean smirked. "In your coat, smartass. Can't hide 'em from me, dipshit."

Billy had fury in his eyes, but he kept his composure, sitting across from Sean slowly.

"I knew you were fucked up from the beginning, but this is just...you're too fuckin' smart for this, aren't you? I thought you were better." Sean set the offending object down on the table, watching Billy's feverish eyes follow it.

"You were seeing that shrink, weren't you? Didn't she help you?"

Billy's eyes met Sean's. "She said, and I quote, "You fit the model of drug-seeking behavior. And too damn bad if you don't like my initial clinical reaction." She just labelled me, didn't even help me. Gave me a fuckin' prescription that couldn't be refilled. Then she runs off and tells that shitbag Sullivan that my child is hi-" He cut off, realizing he'd said too much.

Sean was silent, choosing to ignore the last part. "Maybe you could've requested someone els-" "Like I would've. She sweet-talked me into liking her, used my vulnerability against me. Look how much help I got from her! None."

"I'll help you," Sean said. "Because I've only ever wanted to help you."


End file.
